


don't wanna be damned, don't wanna be saved

by pann_cake



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pann_cake/pseuds/pann_cake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The way Dean scrubs a hand down his face means trouble, Benny knows. But not the usual kind of Winchester trouble that involves knives in the dark and ask-questions-later-damn-it. This is inside-his-head trouble, which is worse because Benny knows from experience that Dean would rather not admit those sorts of things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't wanna be damned, don't wanna be saved

**Author's Note:**

> I'm transferring in some stuff from my ficjournal at lj, so this is a repost and maybe you've seen it before (if so, I apologize). Contains slight spoilers for 8.09, but it goes AU and could be considered fix-it. :) The title is inspired by "Neon Tiger" by The Killers.

“I’m not staying,” Dean says, shoving through the doorstep and dropping his duffel onto the floor. Benny just sighs, shakes his head, and closes the door behind him. The first thing Dean does is rummage through the fridge, as if all of Benny’s little apartment is his now, made so by his presence. 

“Don’t you have anything besides… _blood_?” Dean gripes, moving around all the donor bags.

Benny leans against the kitchen doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face. “If I knew I was expectin’ company I woulda stocked up on some human chow for ya.”

Dean snorts at that, slapping the fridge closed. “Wouldn’t mind a beer, is all.” The way he scrubs a hand down his face means trouble, Benny knows. But not the usual kind of Winchester trouble that involves knives in the dark and ask-questions-later-damn-it. This is inside-his-head trouble, which is worse because Benny knows from experience that Dean would rather not admit those sorts of things.

Benny claps him on the shoulder and flashes him a smile. “There’s a bar in town,” he says. “Lemme buy ya a round, brother.”

A little while later they’re at a booth at The Bayou, some country twang is playing on the jukebox, and Dean avoids saying why he’s really there. They both drink—Benny has to explain that yes, he _can_ ingest things other than blood, they just do nothing for him—Dean eats, and Benny keeps the conversation light until Dean’s lips loosen up enough to tell him what’s going on.

It’s his brother. Benny could’ve guessed as much, but hearing Dean explain how Sam quit hunting and settled down with a girl damn near breaks Benny’s heart. 

“Any word from Cas?” he asks a bit later, though Dean’s mood isn’t any better by then.

Dean shrugs, takes a swig of beer before answering. “Last I heard, Heaven was a mess after we ganked that Naomi chick. Cas is the new sheriff, trying to make up for all the crap he did up there, I guess.”

Benny nods, watching Dean closely. “So that’s why you’re here in the swamps with l’il ol’ me? Nowhere else to go.”

Dean looks up at that, suddenly defensive. “That’s not it, Benny.”

“Then what is it, Dean?” He can’t help pushing, just a little, because he knows Dean will let him.

Dean sighs, deflates a little. “Let’s just say you keep all my ducks in a row.”

Benny huffs a laugh. “You got any ducks left for me to line up?”

“Shut up,” Dean says, but his voice is lighter, teasing, and he nudges Benny under the table with the toe of his boot. “Besides, I’m not staying.”

“Whatever you say, Dean.” 

Benny orders them another round and goads Dean into trying the ‘gator bites. He insists they taste just like chicken fingers and they’re disappointing, but that doesn’t stop him from devouring the whole plate.

On the way home, Dean suddenly decides he needs to take a leak. Benny offers him an empty water bottle, but Dean just chucks it out the window and begs him to _pull the fuck over, or I swear to God I’m having an accident in your fucking car_.

“You’re real charming, you know that?” Benny says with a smirk, pulling into the diner’s parking lot. Dean bolts for the bathroom and Benny leans on the counter, chatting with Elizabeth while he waits.

“What’cha doin’ in here on your night off?” she drawls with a big grin, and Benny can’t help but smile back.

Benny inclines his head towards the bathroom. “Couldn’t hold it another five minutes. I swear, it’s like I’m babysittin’.”

Elizabeth laughs, and it warms Benny down to his toes. “How long’s he in town for?”

Benny shrugs. “Don’t know. Long enough to eat me out of house and home, I’m sure.”

He has Lizzie wrap up what’s left of the pecan pie, and he hides it in the car before Dean comes back out. Dean’s just drunk enough to flirt with her in front of Benny, and Benny allows it for a few minutes because Lizzie blushes under the attention and damn if that’s not endearing as all hell. 

“Sweet girl,” Dean says in the car. Benny turns a half-hearted glare on him.

“Keep your mitts to yourself.”

It gets a chuckle out of Dean, and Benny finds himself laughing along with him. Lizzie could certainly do worse, he’s gotta admit that.

“I ain’t got a couch, so someone’s taking the floor,” Benny explains, sneaking the pie into the fridge while Dean drags his bag into the bedroom.

“Oh, screw you,” he says, flopping face first onto the bed. 

Benny shakes his head and goes around turning off lights and locking doors. When he gets to the bedroom, he’s fairly certain Dean has passed out on top of the covers with his jacket and shoes still on and the bedside light shining on his face.

“Typical,” he mutters, untying Dean’s boots and dropping them to the floor.

“You’re an asshole.” Dean’s voice is muffled by the pillow, but Benny recognizes the tone. Dean called him something similar in Purgatory while Benny fixed up a particularly nasty gash on Dean’s arm. They had nothing to stitch it up with, so they built a fire and cauterized the wound before wrapping it up in strips of some dead thing’s shirt. 

Benny frowns at the memory, shaking his head to clear it. They’re both lucky to have made it out of that place alive, to be here at all to eat ‘gator bites and drink beer together.

“Shove over,” he says, and Dean groans like it’s the worst thing Benny could ask of him. He does manage to roll himself over—quite dramatically—to make room for Benny. 

Benny’s starting to drift off to sleep, the coming dawn making his body tired, when he feels Dean shift next to him. Dean's body is suddenly pressed close, warm and alive and sleepy. There were some nights, in Purgatory, that they spent huddled together against the rain, trying to keep warm. But never like this, Dean’s never curled himself next to Benny for no reason—though Benny gets the feeling that, deep down under the macho crap, Dean’s secretly a cuddler.

“Don’t you ever get sick of it?” Dean asks, voice low and rumbling against Benny’s side. “Being hungry all the time? Having to hide who you are?”

“You mean _what_ I am?” Benny says lightly, and Dean huffs. “I got enough supplies to keep me fed, Dean. It’s fine.”

“But it’s not a life,” he insists. “It’s not what you need.”

Benny turns a bit, rolling onto his side so he’s face to face with his friend. Dean looks more awake than he did before, looking at Benny with open, earnest eyes. “What is it you think I need, Dean?”

Dean shrugs with one shoulder, his eyes falling to Benny’s mouth. Benny thinks he knows what Dean is getting at, though he doesn’t think Dean will actually say it out loud. The thought has crossed Benny’s mind, once or twice. Other vamps do it, keep a human around to feed off of, whether by force or otherwise. Dean could be everything he needs, and while part of him wants that, he knows it could never work. He could never drink from Dean.

Dean has gone quiet next to him, and Benny reaches up to brush the pad of his thumb against the pulse in Dean’s neck. He can feel the blood rushing just under the tender skin, can hear Dean’s heartbeat. It’s steady, not sped up in panic like most humans who get this close to a vampire’s fangs. 

“I won’t,” Benny murmurs, pulling his hand away. “I don’t trust myself.”

“Well, I’ll just have to trust you enough for the both of us.” Dean rolls on top of him, and Benny’s so surprised that he just gazes up at him. 

“I can’t tell if this is some kind of rebound thing, or a death wish,” he says drolly. Dean just huffs above him.

“Neither.” It’s all he says before his mouth is against Benny’s, gentler than Benny expected. He hesitates just a moment before giving in, opening his mouth for Dean to lick his way inside. Dean’s pressed close on top of him, and Benny curls his arms around him. He doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing, but he won’t question it. Dean’s hurting, cut deep enough to come crawling to Louisiana, and Benny knows what he needs. It won’t take much effort on his part to make Dean feel wanted, needed. At this point, it’s clear that they need each other.

Dean pushes Benny’s shirt off and tosses it aside, straddling Benny’s hips and undoing his own buttons. Benny’s fingers clench on Dean’s thighs as he watches, then there’s skin against bare skin when Dean presses against him again. Benny groans, his hands sliding up the smooth plane of Dean’s back as Dean starts to rock his hips. 

Dean pulls back a bit to look at him, his mouth open and wet, breath hot against Benny’s own lips. Then he tips his chin up and away, baring his neck to Benny. It sends a rush of heat to Benny’s groin, and his fangs itch to come out, to sink into Dean’s flesh. His eyes lock on that jump of blood at the crook of Dean’s neck, and Dean’s hips just keep moving, the friction building, and Benny has to tear his eyes away.

“I won’t…” he says again, and his voice sounds desperate and lost even to his own ears.

“It’s okay, Benny,” Dean murmurs. Benny’s not sure if he means _it’s okay, you don’t have to_ or it’s okay, just do it. But Dean doesn’t move away, his neck still right there for Benny to do what he wants with. And Benny needs to do _something_.

When his lips finally land over Dean’s pulse, he hears Dean let out a groan. Benny sucks hard, bringing a pinwheel of color to the surface of Dean’s skin. His tongue laps over the bruise, and when he nips at the purpled skin it’s with his human teeth. He has one hand clasped at the back of Dean’s head to keep him there, working a series of hickeys down his neck to his collarbone. He’s so lost in Dean’s skin that he doesn’t realize Dean is opening up the flies of their pants until he presses their hard lengths together and strokes. Benny arches under him, moaning loud and unashamed against the flushed skin of Dean’s neck. Dean is still pressed close, rutting hard into his fist against Benny’s own throbbing erection. 

“Dean…” he rasps out, wanting more, wanting everything Dean’s willing to give.

Dean takes it for the question it is. “Yeah,” he huffs before shoving off both their pants. Benny has nothing to make this easier, but Dean doesn’t seem to care, just settles back over Benny’s hips and guides him in. He lowers himself onto Benny’s length, head thrown back as Benny slides home. Benny’s hips buck up wildly, his nails raking down Dean’s ribs as Dean rides him. He’s gorgeous like this, bruises and love bites trailing down one side of his neck in uneven blotches.

“Benny, please,” Dean groans, pleading, and Benny knows what he means. _Make me forget, make me whole, take me, take me…_

So Benny does. He flips them on the bed, pinning Dean to the mattress and pushing in harder. Dean wraps his legs around Benny’s waist, one hand curling into Benny’s hair to keep him close. Benny’s face is pressed against Dean’s shoulder, one hand gripping Dean’s hip. His other hand snakes up to Dean’s wrist, thumb over his pulse and fingers curling around to hold tight. He pulls Dean’s wrist to his mouth and sucks a new bruise, hips snapping forward hard and unrelenting. Dean comes with a shout, coating their bellies, his body writhing beneath Benny. 

A few more deep pushes and Benny spills inside him, biting down on Dean’s wrist hard enough to leave marks. He slumps on top of Dean, catching his breath, marveling at the fact that his fangs never once made an appearance. Dean’s fingers trail up and down Benny’s back until Benny rolls off to lay next to him, both of them sweaty and sticky.

Dean doesn’t say anything for a while, and Benny thinks he might have fallen asleep. Then he groans and sits up, rubbing his wrist and smirking at Benny.

“Fucker,” he says, fingers moving to his neck where the worst of the hickeys are.

Benny just shrugs. “You asked for it.”

Dean shakes his head and chuckles before getting up. He walks naked through Benny’s apartment and comes back with a towel, cleans them both up. Benny’s body is craving sleep and darkness now, and he’s drifting off before Dean has even crawled back into bed.

“I’m not staying,” he hears Dean murmur, and he’s too tired to argue that he can, that he should. Then he’s asleep.

It’s afternoon when he wakes, the blinds still closed tight to keep the sunlight out. Dean’s sitting up in bed next to him, wearing just jeans and Benny’s cap, eating the pecan pie directly out of the tin. There are two mugs on the bedside table, one of steaming coffee, the other of something thicker.

“Made you a bloodsucker’s latte,” Dean says around a bite of pie, smug as can be. 

Benny just smiles to himself and takes a sip. “Make yourself at home, why don’tcha?”

Dean grins, shrugging easily as if to say _why not?_

Benny can’t help but notice what he doesn’t say this time, and he hands Dean his mug of coffee with a smile.


End file.
